Giraffe / South Bank,London

…floured baps just don’t do it for me - they lack any bite.

Mum popped to town the other day. I met up with her on the pedestrian equivalent of the A303 during the Summer Holidays, the South bank, and headed for a quick late lunch.

Now I quite like Giraffe. The world-cafe vibe is still kind of novel I guess, and some of their breakfast/brunch offerings are more inventive than the average restaurant, but my burger expectations weren’t that high.

I ordered their eponymous offering. This is what arrived:

The burger looked like it had been charred by a shitfaced dad at a family barbecue, and the cheese looked burnt. Seriously, who grills processed cheese? EVERYONE knows it burns to a rank crusty skin when you grill it. I mean, I had requested American instead of the standard menu Cheddar, but still, you’re a fucking chef dude. Not impressed.

But then I chopped it open and my spirits lifted a bit. The slight crust on the burger added nice texture to the otherwise soft and moist innards. The mayo was present in abundance, although the chipotle sauce wasn’t. At all. The standards were all there to add to the classic burger taste, but floured baps just don’t do it for me - they lack any bite.

Sounds like I’m hating on it right? Honestly, it was pretty ok for a chain restaurant effort. BUT - and maybe I’m still monetarily stuck in the early naughties - £11 for a burger like this still seems pretty steep.

In other news, my mum loved her ribs.

- Rob.​

Big Easy / Chelsea, London

…for that money I want to be writing my wing consumption in numbers, not words

Rare that I stray away from burgers on a night out, but rumours of outlandish food offers led me to this ‘Bar-B-Q’ shack oddly located on the swankfest that is King’s Road.

It was rammed. It was a fucking Tuesday. I was stunned.

Decked out with all the twee American Crab Shack decor you’d expect, Big Easy is an inferior UK amalgamation of Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville and Bubba Gump - like a cluttered antique shop version of TGI Friday’s.

First up, Voodoo chicken wings. Now, you expect pretty decent portion sizes from a gaff that throws All-You-Can-Eat nights out like sticks to terriers. But we received six wings for EIGHT POUNDS, and they were half wings too. I mean, for that money I want to be writing my wing consumption in numbers, not words.

. However, they were good and had a lot of spicy fire to them, with a recognisable Frank’s twang, and not oily at all.

Next, BBQ Chicken and Ribs.

This platter was better value, with lots on it. The BBQ sauce was the sweetest I’ve ever had, like crazy sweet. It did have a slight bite of smoke and char at the end, but not really enough to convince me that it had actually been made in a hickory smoker. The beans just tasted like baked beans that had some kidney beans lobbed in to make them look more authentic. The coleslaw was pretty tasty. There was so much BBQ sauce slathered over everything that it all tasted the same towards the end anyways.

I’m all for sticking to food in this, but some things have to be noted here:

- There was a (really loud) live band, who ‘added to the atmosphere’ by having the unique talent of being abhorrent to the ear almost instantly, with terrible covers of indie/rock songs. Like, who covers Nirvana in a restaurant, really?

- It felt like everyone in the place lived within five minutes of King’s Road, like I had accidently been let in to a filming of Made In Chelsea. We were seated near the door and so witnessed wave upon wave of blinged up, über-tan socialites with burly rugger shirt wearing boyf in tow. Made me feel kind of uneasy - in a BBQ shack that is hitherto unheard of.

Apparently Tuesday is the quietest night, so they must be doing something right. I’ll let the South West London massif have it I think.

• Rob.

Roam Artisan Burgers / San Francisco, CA

“You’ve got to do something pretty remarkable for the hyper-connected SF populous to notice you…”

Straight off the plane after a delayed flight, we dump the bags at the hotel, hail a cab and head straight for Roam Artisan Burgers which sits more or less in the middle of Union Street. The next time you’re in San Francisco, I recommend you do exactly the same thing because Roam has my top burger of 2011. It’s called the French and Fries, and here it is:

A luxurious combo of creamy California avocado, dijon mustard, melted gruyere and watercress with a few truffle-oiled parmesan fries poking out just for the sheer hell of it. This thing was a fucking revelation. Roam aren’t scared to shift from burger tradition and introduce a few unorthodox ingredient combinations, and frankly they nail it every time. You’ve got to do something pretty remarkable for the hyper-connected SF populous to notice you (and form the consequent, ever-present queue out the door) and Roam have done that with laid-back aplomb.

Each burger is put together with genuine care, and all the individual ingredients are the best they can be. The bun is firm but squidgy, the patties are flawlessly cooked and the meat flavour is never masked by the addition of various homemade sauces.

To gush further, all of Roam’s speciality burgers cost eight bucks each.

Eight dollars.

It’s so unfair.

I’ve not had anything as confidently brilliant as the F&F anywhere else this year.

For the sake of comparison, we tried the Heritage burger. It’s a slightly more traditional bacon cheeseburger, albeit with fontina cheese instead of Swiss or American. It was also effortlessly competent.

A quick mention must also go to the ‘Fry-fecta’, a selection of all three types of fries: russet potato, sweet potato and courgette with onion. Supermodel looks, salty more-ishness and not a hint of grease anywhere to be found. Sharing them almost broke out into a fight. Heaven as starch.

I cannot stress enough how much of an SF must Roam is.

EIGHT FUCKING DOLLARS!

• Simon.

Roamburgers.com

Le 28Thiers / Lille, France

…the French love a good burger, much as they don’t like to admit it.

Hey! France! Stop being so complacent!

Bit of a disappointing trip, this one. Lille seems to have suffered a bit from its Eurostar hub status:

The Euro is still walloping us.

Paul seems to have turned into a strange Disneyland / Starbucks hybrid (but the bread still looks OK).

It’s all a bit odd.

Fortunately there is a ray of pink, soggy light at the end of the tunnel and it’s called Le BCBG burger, and it’s available from a strangely outfitted club/bar/restaurant thing in the old town called Le 28Thiers. We stumbled in there with sore feet (too many cobbles in Lille, apparently) after clocking a business luncheoning group wrapping their chops around some rather tasty looking burgers. Certainly not the standard three course prix fixe we were looking for, but they looked good enough to make the decision to stop.

And I’m rather glad to say we did. Foie gras is a tricky beast to wedge into a burger.

It’s rich. It melts. It’s flavour can be lost when it’s not kept simple.

The classically French steak haché traditionally holds its posh, naked head high: sneering at its American counterparts that have been blackened and cloched with plastic cheese. But the French love a good burger, much as they don’t like to admit it, and this was a great find. In fact I’m glad to say this was a truly excellent burger. The patties were cooked only just enough, as you’d expect, and the tremendously generous slab of foie quickly liquified all over everything on the plate in a most satisfying manner.

Needless to say, the cheese-baked brioche was perfect, and somehow managed to encase the bloody contents without incident. Tasty too.

I did need a nap afterwards. The best non-traditional thing in a town that needs a good kick up the cul.

- Simon.​

28 rue Thiers - 59000 Lille, France

#MEATEASY / New Cross, London

The Chilli burger is still as good now as it was a year ago.

So many great things have happened since my first post on the Meatwagon early last year.

I’ve visited countless times, and even ran into Yianni at the Verdugo Bar in LA last summer.

I was on holiday. Yianni was doing research.

He’s a guy that has taken a detailed, systematic and yet unendingly passionate approach to this project, and after visiting the #MEATEASY twice, I’m starting to wonder what state his empire will be in this time next year.

Of course the ‘wagon was stolen, which we all know. But out of the darkness comes the light.

At Meateasy there are door guys, and burgerettes, and a full menu and a roof and an amazing bar and decor and one of London’s most mid-Atlantic atmospheres (this place feels like it’s in New York, not New Cross).

There are a few questions to answer and points to make. So without further ado, for those of you considering a visit:

1. The food is still brilliant

Quality hasn’t dropped. Whatsoever. The Chilli burger is still as good now as it was a year ago. They’re not standing still either: the fries and macaroni cheese have improved significantly over the last week.

2. It’s a brilliant space

Music, ambiance, quality of booze. All fantastic.

3. It’s not a restaurant!

You cannot turn up at 8pm and expect to eat in a timely fashion. If at all. The same rules apply now as they did with the ‘wagon itself - turn up on time, or early. For the Meateasy, that means 6pm. Check your expectations with your watch.

With the practicalities out of the way, there are a few thoughts I want to throw out there. I had a brief exchange on Twitter with Daniel (he of BurgerMonday and other FoodWeekdays fame) after he said:

“Still I hope Yianni will inspire others, not intimidate ‘em”

To which I said:

“If this was LA there would be 14 meatwagons by now. Probably more.”

I think this is something that needs further discussion.

As mentioned earlier, it’s now been a full year since Yianni showed up on the food blogger radar. Since then, he has properly crossed over into the mainstream with traditional media coverage, almost universal online admiration and among certain circles, has become a bonafide household name. This isn’t going to stop.

But what of the others? Where are the other street food entrepreneurs? The other guerilla dining obsessives?

Visiting LA last summer, there were dozens of foodtrucks catering to every cuisine and culinary whim you could think of. And they’re still multiplying like rabbits. It’s the same in San Francisco and the East coast is rapidly catching up. They’re all a pretty amiable bunch too, since cultivating an online following is key to foodtruck success. For example, I felt genuinely proud to be Slidin’ Thru’s first customer from the UK.

They even posed for a picture:

(They’re in Vegas, but they illustrate the point I’m trying to make.)

At the time they were nearly all startups. They’d been open for two to three months, maybe. Tops. And there were dozens of them, with an enormous crowd of cash-ready, media-savvy customers following them around the city, wanting a new favourite dish.

Even the old hands, such as Kogi BBQ (five trucks, three locations per day each, five days a week), have turned into full-on empires without relinquishing their values and food quality.

It’s an enviably simple model - find something you can do really well, build a following, then expand.

Yianni has clearly done his stateside homework and is building his empire. Not just with food, but with PR, marketing and customer experience. He’s not even behind the grill anymore. He’s front of house at the Meateasy. He’s doing interviews with the Evening Standard and quality checking.

So having established all of that, it saddens me a bit that there aren’t any other grassroots street food startups generating the same buzz with amazing food. Somebody should be giving Yianni a run for his money, the same way that all the LA foodtrucks compete with each other (and their brick ‘n mortar-based, venture-backed buddies) to earn the crown of being the best. They’ve already had a reality show doing just that.

I will always love what he does and what he has done for bringing proper American food to London after all this time. It underlines our completely British approach to competition when there’s nobody else doing anything remotely similar in the same space.

Where do we go from here?

The other question mark with the Meateasy will be what happens when it shuts down in March. Between now and then, a back-of-fag-packet calculation suggests the MeatEmpire will have served way, way more covers than it ever has done before. With that comes the next difficult sequel.

How do you go from having created such a special place, with a full menu, table service, a bigger kitchen, electronic ordering systems and all the other elements that add up to their slickest project yet, to then shutting it down and going back to a little van again?

And what of the pubs? Surely, Yianni is in the completely unique position of being able to say to any pub in London, from zone 1 to 6, that he can show up with his team and guarantee a horde of big eating, big drinking punters. Most of whom will post about it online. And then bring in even more punters. That surely has to factor in to his long term strategy.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I sincerely hope his amazing burgers will be around for a long time to come. And maybe it’s time for somebody else to be just as obsessive and give him a run for his money. But for now, it’s still very much the best burger joint in Britain. And the odds are it will stay that way for a long time yet.

NB. This post is not addressing all the lovely people that do a sterling job running London’s supperclubs. This is a food truck rant only. Thanks for understanding!

#MEATEASY is running until mid-March above the Goldsmith Tavern in New Cross, SE14.

The Draft House / Bermondsey, London

…much more Pacific coast craft beer infused interpretation of gastropub.

It’s not too embarrassing to admit the only reason I wanted to go here over my usual Thursday night Bankside beer haunt is because of Jay Rayner’s glowing review the other week. Beer, booths and burgers is a combination I’ll always seek out.

The most surprising thing about the Draft House is just how bloody busy it is. It’s in that particularly dead bit of Tower Bridge Road, just over the bridge itself, that was previously home to a few shaky pubs, some takeaways and a generous helping of city folk living in gentrified warehouses. Not quite Bermondsey, too far down Tooley Street to be London Bridge and away from the after-dark madness of Bermondsey Street.

But despite that, it’s rammed full of the after work crowd. Maybe they’re members of Boris’ team nipping over the road, or maybe they’ve schlepped it over the bridge for a decent pint, since Tower Hill is completely devoid of anything resembling a decent public house.

Having gone through a few jars of Meteor from France and a New Zealand lager I can’t remember the name of, we managed to get one of the green apple coloured booths in the restaurant section. The combination of beer menu, food selection and general ambience immediately reminded us of San Francisco’s own Monk’s Kettle. The whole vibe is here is much less the typical London gastropub, much more Pacific coast craft beer infused interpretation of gastropub. For London, this is by no means a Bad Thing.

Being a burger guy, there was only one real option on this menu, which was this:

It’s a 10oz burger with smoked cheese and bacon. It came with some brilliantly crispy french fries and a sharp, silky home-made mayonnaise to dip them in. There are some very notable things about this burger, especially considering it’s from London and not San Francisco. The patty was confidently cooked and held itself together well. The various accompaniments were just right and most importantly of all there was absolutely no skimping on the cheese. It had a beautiful melt with just enough tang to compliment the patty.

The only minor disappointment was the brioche bun. It certainly looks the part: I’ve not come across a burger brioche this convincing on this side of the Atlantic. Unfortunately it was just a teeny bit past its best; not completely stale but certainly not fresh enough to compliment the other constituent parts of what is otherwise a superb sandwich. A liberal smothering of their excellent mayo helped soften it back up.

There are two other Draft Houses in other parts of South London I’ll never visit, so I’m really pleased to have one in Tower Bridge. Go here to eat and drink. The attention to detail is highly commendable and I’ll be back to try the celebrated pork belly as soon as I can feasibly get away with it. And they have Ghostbusters wallpaper.

Clinton Street Baking Co. / New York, NY

When it comes to a benedict, serving it on a buttermilk biscuit is just an enormous no-no.

Hype.

Hype hypey hype.

In a city that breakfasts and brunches with the very best of them, Clinton Street Baking Company is right up there on the must-visit lists. The weekend queues can be legendary. We, however, showed up mid-morning on a Monday. We didn’t have to queue, to the point where merely asking for a table and getting one immediately seemed to piss off the Maitre d’.

So we were in, nestled at the back near the kitchen window, and we were hungry. For me, the eggs benedict is always the quality benchmark, especially in such a celebrated environment. It’s worth noting at this point that Clinton Street are all about the biscuits and gravy throughout the menu. When it comes to a benedict, serving it on a buttermilk biscuit is just an enormous no-no.

Biscuits are effectively scones. Imagine a scone with a slightly overcooked poached egg, some fairly flavourless hollandaise and some inexplicable shavings of red pepper and, er, spring onion. Sorry, scallions.

And then, when you cut into it, the biscuit (scone) immediately disintegrates. Because that’s what they do. It ruins the dish, makes a huge mess and you’re left picking out the inexplicable bits of spring onion from your teeth.

Compared to a muffin or toast-based benedict, this was a huge disappointment. I don’t mind a good biscuit when used in the right context, but here it was being different just for the thematic sake of it. One of the worst dishes on this trip in a place that seemed like it would be a slam dunk.

Oh and the pancakes were fine, but the maple butter was weird. A greasier, claggier version of syrup that had a slight burnt aftertaste. $13 is a bit punchy.

I don’t think we ordered right, but I just can’t suffer through another of their buttermilk biscuits, so won’t be back for another go.

Don’t believe the hype, and leave the queues for everyone else. Katz’s Deli is only round the block.

• Simon.

clintonstreetbaking.com

Goodman / City of London, London

What makes it sting less is how good the experience is…

I stumbled into the Mayfair Goodman with the good lady completely by accident a few months ago. We had in fact been making our way across the West End to Byron, to try out the celebrated nuclear cheese version of their burgers, as requested by me and dozens of others.

Goodman was just right there. And had burgers. And we’d just purchased an enormous skillet from John Lewis and I was trying to not kneecap passing tourists with it.

It was a welcome, tobacco-coloured stop, where we had a very serviceable burger (not as drippy as I’d been led to believe) and a really quite jaw dropping beef carpaccio.

Fast forward to August and the new cunningly-placed Bank branch is running a three day soft launch. It’s an address that will ensure generations of long boozy banker lunches and the wine list has been knowingly selected to match the expenses drubbing it will no doubt be fuelling. It was a simple visit, especially when we had to pass on the full steak experience previously.

I’m a huge fan of the upmarket steakhouse. It’s an American export that is wholly welcome in London, where our steak has been bland and tasteless for too long. And it really helps showcase some of the stunning meat available in the capital. Hawksmoor’s Ginger Pig partnership springs to mind. We’re in a new era of local rock star butchery, and this new breed of steakhouse is the venue.

The key elements that make Goodman really good fun are all in the detail. The servers wear chef’s whites. It gives the unconscious illusion that they might be the one actually grilling the cut you choose from the selection tray. The tray itself is a masterstroke. I don’t think I’d ever order fillet steak normally, but the fact we could see just how marbled the fillet actually was is a huge selling point. It also gives you a visual guide as to what you can expect. I still struggle to think of beef metrically.

Everything is branded. The entire room and everything in it has been given a great deal of thought. The knives. The tap water bottle. The plates. The waiting staff. It’s not subtle, but it’s pretty and it’s tasteful.

They don’t skimp on portions. Sure, you pay for it, but just the fact you can order a 900g USDA porterhouse is immensely satisfying. The meat is impeccably cooked, provided you give enough detail when ordering (medium rare, but the rarer side of medium, not blue please). It’s well seasoned. The bearnaise has enough bite to it and doesn’t congeal too quickly. The stilton sauce is a richly reduced gravy, a country mile away from the gelatinous cheese sauce you’d expect otherwise. It all goes together brilliantly.

The accompaniments are, like the meat, flawless. The truffle chips are crisp and fluffy, the mushrooms are doused in just enough garlic butter and the tomato salad actually has some really quality tomatoes in it. And a good tomato can be very hard to find.

The only thing to really bring up is money. I’ve had a fair few discussions with beef fans who declare, with good reason, that they could just as easily go to O’Shea’s or the Ginger Pig or Allen’s of Mayfair and buy their own T-bone, rib eye or Porterhouse, take it home and grill it there. It’s a very good point. Steak isn’t hard to cook properly.

Even with 50% off food it was still nudging £45 a head for a single course, some shared sides, a cocktail and a glass of Malbec (our desserts were comped due to a spot of inadvertent menu proof reading). It would have been £70 on a normal day. What makes it sting less is how good the experience is, but it’s priced for special occasion, and do you just want a steak when you’re paying that much money?

Therefore I think Goodman falls squarely into the ‘awesome if on somebody else’s expenses’ bracket. Or just keep going back for the burger. At £12 it’s the star buy.

Full set of photos available on flickr

Goodman - Bank Bookings via their website £70 for steak, some sides and just about enough booze

The Ledbury / Notting Hill, London

Yes, celeriac can be sexy.

Well. The annual Big One.

The Ledbury was the site of my birthday lunch, back in May. The annual epic Michelin blow-out.

The Ledbury was absolutely top of the list after genuinely gushing reviews from all kinds of folks whom I respect enormously, most notably Mark from Wahaca who talked about it without taking a breath for several minutes.

So a table for six was dutifully booked way in advance, and in the final weekend of May we ventured out West to parts of Notting Hill we’d probably not see again for quite some time.

Before we get into any kind of by-the-numbers course dissection (which I think I’ll just let the photographs do, erm, visually), it’s worth pointing out exactly what I feel makes the Ledbury one of the absolute Best Restaurants In London.

Service.

Bonhomie. Banter. Wit. Overwhelming knowledge. A little bit of showing off. All perfectly placed. Deftly timed.

There are very few restaurants that can truly say they’ve got the appropriate level of service absolutely right, but the Ledbury is certainly one of them. The staff somehow manage to be convivial, relaxed and sometimes downright cheeky without straying too far into the uncomfortable over-friendliness and ill-timing that plagues other London restaurants, especially in the ££££ bracket.

And it’s not just the maitre d’ or sommelier who exude this uncanny, natural charm, but every single member of the waiting staff.

All of them. Exceptional.

Texture.

What elevates the Ledbury’s cooking into its very own league is the quite unbelievable variety of texture, both in each individual dish and across the whole menu. It’s an enormously difficult thing to express in words, so if you haven’t already been sold to enough, get down there and eat. Just the simple act of putting each course in your mouth is a highly excitable and complex experience, weird as that may sound.

My mother, in her own inimitable style, referred to the use of ‘grit’ in each course. She meant it in the nicest possible way, and I don’t think any of us could think of a better word for it. It’s layered softness, but with depth. Nope. Not much better. Moving on…

Being a bit daring.

I suppose I’m referring to the wine here. We went for the matched wines at an extra £45 per head. Red with fish. Port halfway through. Mental. A blithe disregard for the Michelin rulebook. But calm, considered, tradition-banishing choices. The kind of choices that exude confidence in each component choice of every course.

And each of the bolder choices were flawlessly explained by the sommelier. What a dude.

So now this review is a bit past its menu relevancy date, I’m not sure what’s still on the Ledbury tasting menu. Our collective highlights were the faux squid risotto, the pomp and theatre surrounding the celeriac. Yes, celeriac can be sexy. And the finest loin of lamb you ever did see.

The trouble now is I feel the Ledbury should be in my life more often, since it’s such a joyous, care-free, but undeniably elegant experience. And what makes it even more tempting is the simple fact that the set menus are an absolute steal.

If it’s on your to-eat list, move it up a few notches to the top and get over there. You will not be disappointed.

Check it:

Full set of photos available on flickr

The Ledbury - Notting Hill Bookings via their website £125 tasting menu including matched wines

The Roaring Fork / Austin, TX

The patty was as good as you’d expect in a restaurant at this level - well seasoned, delicately pink in the centre and wicked juicy.

The Roaring Fork is slap bang in the middle of downtown Austin, cuddled up to the InterContinental and just down the street from the lovely Paramount cinema. This is classic steak and cocktail territory, the kind of thing other national chains base themselves around, but with a distinctively upscale cowboy vibe.

We snuck in for a quick burger lunch to escape the heat.

The tantalisingly-monickered $13 Big Ass Burger awaited. A hefty, shiny, properly laid out steakhouse burger, easily a half-pounder, with poblano peppers, American cheese and bacon. Elsewhere on the menu is a $15 Kobe beef option, but the pesto aioli meant we left it on the sidelines this time.

The Big Ass Burger arrived closed with a healthy portion of fries and a side order of green chili macaroni cheese. On first glance the shine and colour of the bun was hugely pleasing, and when split the burger held its structure very well and was beautifully soft. The patty was as good as you’d expect in a restaurant at this level - well seasoned, delicately pink in the centre and wicked juicy.

The green chilli mac didn’t pack as much heat as the name suggests, but was a rich ‘n saucy poshed-up example. Solid, but not life-altering.

Overall this was one of the tidiest Austin burgers we’ve had, despite its ample proportions. Great service and a welcome escape from the bustle of downtown Austin. Recommended if you want a relaxed sit-down lunch instead of chasing down a local foodtruck.

• Simon.